


spoke my language, touched my limbs

by blazeofglory



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Anal Sex, Bittersweet, Established Relationship, Intimacy, Light Angst, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Quiet Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:16:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: “Can we…” Harry closes the distance between them again, placing a hand on John’s chest. He speaks as quietly as he can, unsure if John can even hear him. “John, I—I should like to touch you. While we’re alone.”John’s eyes dart towards the curtain, then back to Harry. “My love…”“I can be quiet,” Harry insists, practically begging now. “John, it’s been so long. I need you.”
Relationships: John Bridgens/Henry "Harry" Peglar
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	spoke my language, touched my limbs

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on the Terror kink meme. The title is from "Dear Fellow Traveler" by Sea Wolf. 
> 
> As always, I'm showing up to another new fandom with some porn. I hope you all enjoy!

When Harry opens the curtain, John looks up with a smile and a greeting on his lips, but Harry raises a finger to his mouth and John stays quiet. Harry quickly glances behind him—the coast is still clear—and then he steps inside and closes the curtain behind him. 

John stands, and they are quite close in the small space. It’s been too long since they have been alone together; Harry has missed having John so close. He has missed this smile, those soft eyes, those large hands that come up to cup his face. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” John whispers, voice soft in Harry’s ear. 

Harry’s eyes slip shut as he leans up just that little bit—and John does not keep him waiting. The kiss is soft for a moment, sweet, but Harry is not risking everything for softness; he presses closer, his hands on John’s waist, and parts his lips. John slides one hand into Harry’s hair, cradling his head, as he licks into Harry’s mouth. They kiss until their breaths are labored, and then they keep kissing, until a distant noise startles them apart. They stay still for a moment, waiting, but there’s no further concerning noise—just the distant sounds of men, the groans of the ship and the ice, the cold wind howling outside. 

John’s eyes are dark and his lips are red. 

“I’ve missed you too,” John whispers, lips curling into a smile once more. Harry can’t help but smile back. 

“Can we…” Harry closes the distance between them again, placing a hand on John’s chest. He speaks as quietly as he can, unsure if John can even hear him. “John, I—I should like to touch you. While we’re alone.” 

John’s eyes dart towards the curtain, then back to Harry. “My love…” 

“I can be quiet,” Harry insists, practically begging now. “John, it’s been so long. I need you.” 

“Harry,” John breathes out softly, and then he pulls Harry into another kiss, and there is nothing soft about it. 

They were careful, for a while; it was all too easy, considering they were on different ships. They’ve hardly seen each other at all during the entire expedition. It’s grown clear now, though, that things are changing—there is no salvation to be found here and no rescue coming quick enough. They’ll soon leave the ships behind altogether. Harry tries not to think of this inevitability, but he knows that they will venture out and many of them will die—from scurvy, exposure, starvation. The monster. 

With there being so many more pressing concerns, Harry doesn’t think anyone cares to know what he and John get up to when they have the chance. He thinks some of them know, but no one says a word. Still, it won’t do to get caught like this; this only works when the other men can pretend it isn’t happening. They must stay _silent._

John kisses down Harry’s neck and Harry bites his lip to keep from moaning, determined not to make a single sound, even as his lover finds that spot behind his ear that drives him _wild_. 

“Will you fuck me, John?” Harry whispers, low in John’s ear. 

John kisses Harry’s neck once more, then whispers back, “I have never been able to resist you.” 

Harry is warmer now, in this moment, than he has been since the ships ran out of coal. Maybe warmer than he’s been since they left London. 

As John watches, Harry unbuttons his coat and sets it aside on the bed. For a moment, he hesitates—if they get caught, it would be best to be wearing as many clothes as possible, but… But if they are caught, what’s the point? There would be no hiding their activity. 

Harry holds John’s gaze for a moment, and he thinks John may be thinking the same thing. With hands that tremble just a little, Harry begins to undress, and John follows suit. Despite the warmth flowing through Harry from John’s attentions, the air in the room is still bracing on his bare skin, and he shivers. The second John kicks off his pants, he pulls Harry into his arms, rubbing his back to keep him warm, and Harry pulls John down on top of him on the bed. 

They can’t keep their hands off each other, exploring every inch of pale skin that’s been hidden away in this endless winter. Harry doesn’t know how long it’s been since they last laid like this; it must have been before they set sail. At sea, they only ever risk quick encounters of hands and mouths, and Harry can count on one hand the number of times they’ve had those opportunities in the past couple of years. 

John’s large hands caress Harry’s chest, thumbs moving over his nipples, and when Harry shivers this time, it’s not from the cold. John ducks his head down, licking over one nipple and beginning to suck. Harry is quick to move a hand over his mouth, pleasure spiking through him from John’s attentions. He’s rather practiced at being quiet, but when John _bites_ , Harry can’t help the moan that gets muffled into the palm of his hand. 

Harry shifts his hips, grinding up against John, both of them hard. After all this time, it’s _exhilarating_ , feeling the way that John responds to him. Every time Harry gets John hard, he wants to congratulate himself on his astounding luck—for here is a man, a brilliant, handsome man, and Harry gets to be in his bed, underneath him, grinding their cocks together. There is no greater honor or better luck in all the world. 

John shifts up the bed again, kissing Harry hard. In another place, another time—their shared home in London just a few years ago—Harry would have sat himself in John’s lap and kissed him for hours, grinding against his cock, _teasing_ him, and then Harry would drop to his knees and John would spread his legs… but John wouldn’t come in Harry’s mouth. He would pick Harry up and carry him to bed, laying him out on his back, and John would finger Harry ‘til he _cried._ Then John would fuck him. 

But they don’t have the luxuries of time or privacy for that. 

John pulls back to grab oil—and for a moment, Harry wonders where he’s been keeping it that it hasn’t frozen—and Harry turns over, onto his elbows and knees. He tenses, expectant, but he still jumps when John’s slick fingers caress his hole—the oil is _cold._ Still keeping carefully quiet, John says nothing, but he strokes Harry’s hip with his free hand in apology. Harry cants his hips back, invitation to keep going. 

When John starts rubbing his fingertips against Harry’s hole, Harry has to hide his face in the pillow; it feels _good_ now. John _slowly_ slides a finger inside, and Harry trembles. He wants to moan for it, he wants to say his lover’s name and beg him for more. It’s been _years_ since John’s had him like this, and Harry missed it even more than he realized. It feels _right_ to have John inside him—the only man that Harry has ever touched like this, let alone _loved_ like this. 

He wishes he could say _I love you_ out loud right now, but he can’t. 

John fingers Harry, thorough and gentle, and Harry can tell John remembers _exactly_ how Harry likes it—slow, deep thrusts, first one, then two fingers. By the time John adds a third, Harry is panting into the pillow, and he picks his head up just enough to look over his shoulder. John meets his eyes, and Harry can tell he’s _wrecked._ John needs this just as bad as Harry does. 

Eyes bright and cheeks flushed, Harry mouths the word _please._

John smiles that same beautiful smile that made Harry stop and pay attention all those years ago. The smile that made Harry want to befriend him. The smile that made Harry want to kiss him. John is still beautiful, even here, even now; he hardly seems to have lost any weight at all, though Harry can’t say the same for himself. He knows he’s not the beauty that John once fell for, but he doesn’t let the thought upset him—the love they hold for each other goes much deeper than that. 

Harry knows that John will always love him, as he will always love John. He will go to his grave in love with this man. 

Caught up in his thoughts, Harry can’t help but gasp as he suddenly feels John’s cock replacing his fingers. Harry fists his hands in the sheets, panting into the pillow. He’s not just warm anymore; he’s _hot_. John is lighting a fire inside him and it’s spreading, all the way to Harry’s fingertips and toes. He will be cold when the sweat dries, he knows, but right now he is just _hot_. John’s hands are warm and strong, holding Harry’s hips, and John’s cock fills him _perfectly_. 

Harry pants and trembles and doesn’t say a word. He can hear John breathing heavily, but his lover stays quiet too. 

_I love you_ , Harry thinks, as John starts to move. Every thrust feels electric, every touch feels like a blessing; this union feels like the farthest thing from sin. John reaches around and starts stroking Harry’s cock in time with his thrusts, and as he bends over, he presses a kiss to Harry’s back, and Harry knows that if they could speak right now, John would be saying, _I love you too_. 

Harry thought he knew romance before John. He thought he knew pleasure. But John taught him things, a million beautiful things—literature and languages and _love_. John made Harry _think_ in ways he never had before, and he made Harry _feel_ things he had never known he could feel. _This_ feeling, right now, is one that is sacred, one he holds close to his heart, one he remembers on the long, cold, lonely nights. 

John thrusts harder and Harry barely holds back a moan, eyes squeezed shut, as John thrusts so deep inside him. John knows just how to make Harry crazy; Harry thinks John must know him better than he knows himself. With John’s thick cock inside him and John’s hand stroking him, Harry knows he won’t last much longer—they used to be able to go for _hours_ , but they hardly have the time or stamina anymore. This is enough. This is _more_ than enough. 

“ _Harry_ ,” John whispers, voice strained. From just that one word alone, Harry can tell John is just as close, just as desperate—and Harry wants John to come, he wants John to spill inside him—but he doesn’t want this to end. He never wants this to end. 

Harry tries to hold out, tries to stave off his orgasm, but John’s cock inside him, long and thick and filling Harry up, is driving him _wild_. John keeps stroking Harry’s cock, and it only takes another moment before Harry succumbs to the pleasure, clenching down around John’s cock, flushed and trembling, mouth open as he gasps for breath but doesn’t make a sound. John follows quickly, like he was waiting for Harry to finish first—and Harry’s sure this is accurate. John clings to Harry’s hips as he thrusts, spilling deep inside Harry, slick and _hot_. 

Carefully, John pulls back, and Harry gingerly rolls onto his back, uncaring of laying in his own come. He smiles up at his lover and John smiles back, then leans down to kiss Harry softly. Already, Harry can feel himself growing cold again as his sweaty skin registers the chilly air—they part after a moment, and John starts grabbing their clothes from the ground, passing articles over to Harry and letting their fingers linger each time their hands touch. 

“I really needed that,” Harry whispers softly as he dresses. Each layer he puts on has grown cold in the time he wasn’t wearing it, and they hardly serve to warm him up again, but once they’re both redressed, he leans heavily into John’s side, and that helps. 

John wraps an arm around Harry, holding him close. John opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then closes it again. 

They’re both quiet for a long moment, dreading when they shall have to part. 

“Every minute away from you is agony,” John whispers into Harry’s ear. 

Harry nuzzles closer, his cold nose finding John’s neck. Bittersweet as the moment feels, Harry finds himself smiling. “At least today, when I leave you, I carry some of you with me.” 

John laughs softly, his fair skin flushed, and Harry cannot resist leaning up to kiss him once more. He kisses John, then kisses him again, kisses him and kisses him until he feels dizzy with it. 

Eventually, they part. John cups Harry’s face gently and offers a small smile. “Come see me again later, my love. I found a novel I wish to share with you.” 

Harry could very well take the novel now, but he smiles back and seizes on the opportunity to see his lover again today.

Slowly, Harry stands, regretting every moment that brings him farther from John’s embrace. It’s another minute before he can bear to let go of John’s hand, and only because he can feel both of their fingers growing cold. Once he pulls back, they both slip into gloves once more. 

Harry lets out a quiet sigh and leans in one last time. He brings his lips to John’s ear and says, quiet as he can, “I love you.” 

John’s eyes are wet when Harry pulls back, and Harry’s sure his are the same. Neither of them know when they will be able to do this again. _If_ they will be able to do this again. 

“I love you too,” John whispers back. 

With one last, soft smile, Harry opens the curtain and glances around—no one is near—and he offers a small wave to his lover as he leaves. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter @blazeofglry!


End file.
